Surreal
by Temeraria
Summary: In this game, only the losers ended up victors. Rated M for sexual reference and language.


"Dream or reality?" his breath tickled her heightened senses, her skin prickling at the sensation of his wispy breath. She turned around, but he had already vanished, leaving no trace behind. A puzzled smile graced her average features, her hair becoming an untamable whirlwind. She loved it when he toyed around with her. She loved when he was _fucking_ with her mind. _She loved it._

"I don't know," she breathed in a mesmerizing way, her eyes skimming the clearing in a desperate search. "You tell me…" Strands of hair momentarily blurred her eyesight. She inhaled the masculine scent that emitted from the figure standing behind her. Her shadow.

"That, my dear," he sighed into her neck, the fabric of his foreboding mask tenderly caressing her flesh. "Is not an acceptable answer." She tried to crane her neck around, yet her movements not quick enough; he was already gone. In fact, he was _torturing_ her in the most despicable way. He was there but at the same time he was not. A twisted game she had fallen pray for, and yet she desired every moment she could get a grasp on.

"Dream?" she guessed on a whim, her tongue slowly licking her lower lip in an unconscious act. He could taste her desire, that primitive need that made his mind twirl with delight. A few more minutes, and the prey will eventually die. He knew. She knew. They both knew, just like they both needed. Her lips were quivering, just like her whole being. She was reaching her limit; the climax. She wanted to wake up – or sleep? She wanted to rip off the disguise and see him exposed. He was sneakier than the rest, and that was the challenge she enjoyed. _That was the reason_.

He was already gone, he was already elsewhere, yet he was still _there_. "Don't you ever get bored?" she moaned to silence itself, her knees giving away. His hands were there to aid her – _as always._

"At times."

Her gaze gleamed with an unfathomable amount of desire and need, her breaths deep and irregular. "Fuck this!" she hissed, her words lacking its hateful sentiment. She was desperate. She was tempted. She was unpleased. And all the genjutsu user could do was smile, that shadowed smile that would leave her wondering how his lips felt, how his saliva tasted, how his tongue moved. She tried to object, she tried to latch onto him and rip away that thin strap of fabric that created such an aching gap between them both. But not now. She loved when he fucked with her mind. _She needed it_.

Another wave of pleasure surged through her. "You love it." He would say in that sultry voice.

And she did. Oh, kami help her, she did. All she wanted was grasp his broad shoulders and scream in delight. She wanted to delve deeper into those layers of satisfaction and know the true meaning of ecstasy. She wanted to conquer that wild need her innards demanded. She wanted it all. But that was not part of the game.

"Not now."

_Not ever_, she silently added. And that was enough to make her whine, to make her whimper and scream and trash. So desperate, she found herself in an abyss of dissatisfaction. She found herself cornered right where he wanted her to be: the corner of utter _need._ She needed him, like lungs needed oxygen. And he loved it.

"Please…" she implored to nothing. He was gone, leaving her stranded and strangled in the knee-deep desperation of hopelessness; the emptiness that rotted her core with misery and solace. She needed him more than she needed herself. But he was gone, just as he wanted. Always what he wanted. And she was nothing but a pawn in the game he devised with splendorous dedication. In this game, only the losers ended up victors.

†††

She woke. Not a breath late, her eyes fluttered to life, the shackles of dreams shattering at the first sign of consciousness. And so was he, gone like the rapid breath leaving her lungs. She ached, she hurt, she wanted and she needed. Nothing was right; not quite gone, but still not there. Her dreams were so vivid and life-like, she felt like submerging in them for eternity. But not alone. _Never alone_. But she was not yet losing that lone strand of sanity that kept her whole being together; keeping her from falling askew. She was winning, and only the losers became victors.

"Tomorrow," she whispered to none. "Will you be done?"

The shadow looming above her was enough to make her chest constrict. He was never here, he was never _real_. He made sure he was kept hidden in her most private desires; in that ridden part of her mind that had crumbled away thanks to his sweet intrusion. He would fuck her mind until it had washed away, until thinking was not a known verb. Until she had faded. But what about fucking her body? She didn't want to erode like she did in the dreams, but the pool of desire she felt inside her hot body made her squirm. She wanted him, in her mind, in her core, in _her_. But that was not the rules.

"Tomorrow will be too late." His voice, the perfect reflection of temptation's echo, lacked that sultry tone she was accustomed to. This was constricted, his voice coming out grievous and dull. But she didn't care; she couldn't even think in caring. She wanted to make her heart slow down, her legs stop twitching, and her fingers stop clenching. She wanted it done with. She wanted to break loose and set her desire free. _She wanted to lose_.

"Then now." A breathless offer from desperation. "Now. There's no better timing than **now**." Was there? It didn't matter, it didn't matter at all. She wanted to get this over with, she wanted to have what she have always wanted the day she get involved with him. _Him._

His eyes were giving her that criticizing glare that made her hips lurch to life. A red eye that glinted hidden passion for fucking. She wanted that. She needed that. "I don't-"

"Please!" she cried. Her hands were clutching her breasts, her thighs crossed with childish urgency. She looked funny, under another circumstances. But not then; for her pose was erotic and enticing. He was tempted, oh so tempted. But he was uncertain. Should he? Her moan made his hesitation ebb away. He _should._

He was trying to control himself, trying to suppress distant urges. It didn't work, for her moans became more intense, her squirms more wild. He couldn't resist that. "Sakura…" his breath was low and full of warnings, but she was deaf. She was only open for physical contact. And he was more than pleased to oblige.

Leaning forward, he pressed his forehead against hers, his fingers twitching as she tried to dislodge his mask. The mask that made him so mysterious, so aloof, so distant, so _wanted_; that fucking mask that created an endless gap between them both. She wanted it **off**. But, as soon as she clutched the accursed mask, his body dissolved into nothing.

"_You win._"

†††

This wasn't _originally_ Kaka/Saku. Not exactly. But, really, I just had to edit one freaking name and ~ tada. So. Yeah.


End file.
